


To Spill a Drop of Ale

by soprano_buddy15



Category: The Last Kingdom, The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Headcanon, Spoilers for Episode 10, Spoilers for Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24085189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_buddy15/pseuds/soprano_buddy15
Summary: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4Young Calemund accidentally spills his ale on a Dane, and learns an important lesson.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	To Spill a Drop of Ale

**Author's Note:**

> Tis me. 
> 
> Again. 
> 
> I had this bouncing around all day today and what better way to spend a snowy day in May than writing a headcanon fanfic. I always considered Sihtric to be the thoughtful one of the bunch, and wondered what wisdom he would impart on another.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! As always, constructive comments are always welcome. Just don't be rude, because nobody wants that.

The tavern was full that night, and Calemund struggled to make his way around the tables and not spill his ale. He had just made his way to Winchester, and what better way to get to know people than by going to the alehouse every night?

Bodies moved this way and that, and many times he almost got knocked over. Standing nearly a full head shorter than the average man in this tavern meant he had to stand on his toes to see anything. Finally spying a seat, he scurried as fast as he could to claim it. He had almost made it when a group of drunken soldiers knocked into him. 

Being very small for his nineteen years, Calemund cried out as he stumbled backwards, his mug of ale flying out of his hand. Grabbing on to the nearest table to right himself, he heard a sound of disgust and looked up to find a Dane dripping with his spilled ale. 

Calemund swallowed hard. This was obviously a seasoned Dane; he stood tall and proud, and covered in weapons. Arms rings and jewelry decorated his arms and fingers, and his dark hair was shaved and braided with silver beads on his left side. Calemund could see a tattoo of a snake on his neck that went up and onto the right side of his head. 

The Dane shook out his hands, and drops of ale splashed around them. Frowning, the Dane glared at him and wiped the front of his leather armour off. The furrow of his brow accented the many scars on his face, particularly the one cutting across his forehead above his right eyebrow.

Calemund struggled to stand up, his legs weak. “My-my apologies, Lord,” he managed to stutter. He grabbed at his coin purse and held out a coin, hand shaking. “For damaging anything.”

The Dane was still frowning, but his eyes softened as he took examined Calemund, and taking note of the drunks still around them. “It is not your fault,” he said quietly, and Calemund was taken aback by the gentleness in his voice. It was not a deep voice, as he would have assumed, and there was a slight accent to his words. “Keep your coin, or use it to buy me a drink.”

Shocked, Calemund flagged down a breathless barmaid and requested another mug of ale and a rag to clean up the mess. She came back quickly, and the Dane grabbed the rag to mop up the puddle on the seat. “Sit,” he said, and gestured to the seat across from him.

Nervous, Calemund sat. Never had he imagined he would be this close to a Dane without drawing weapons. He knew that Danes lived in Winchester, but he always thought that they would be less… obvious. 

“I would like to apologize again, Lord,” he said shakily after sitting in silence for a while. It was unnerving how comfortable the Dane was to sit and observe. “It truly was an accident.”

The Dane took a sip of his ale, his mismatched eyes never leaving Calemund’s face. “I am not a Lord,” he said finally, a small grin lacing his features. 

It changed his face entirely. Gone was the scowling Dane who lined his eyes in black, and in his place was a man that was much younger than Calemund had originally realized.

“I am sorry,” Calemund said again. It seemed his brain was stuck on repeat. 

“Stop apologizing,” the Dane finally said. “You are one of Edward’s men?”

“I, uh, yes.” At the Dane’s raised eyebrow, Calemund hurried on. “I just got here a couple nights ago. My family are farmers for an aeldorman in Canterbury. I’m hoping to fight for Edward so I can support my family.”

The Dane nodded. “Noble of you to travel so far.” Finishing his ale, he leaned forward. “What is your name?”

“I am Calemund, Lord.”

“And I am not a lord,” the Dane said again. Feeling his face heat, Calemund opened his mouth to apologize and the Dane held up a hand. “I said stop apologizing. Warriors do not apologize for every slight. They are only necessary if forgiveness is needed and if it is meant.”

Calemund sat there, mouth agape. He had never truly thought about the act of apologizing. He didn’t even move as a man brushed against him as he walked past their table. 

Faster than Calemund knew it was possible to move, the Dane had whipped out his knife and held it against the man’s abdomen, stopping him in his tracks. “You will return his purse to him,” he said softly, and Calemund felt the weight of his words. As quiet and unassuming as this Dane was, Calemund knew that he had killed before, and was good at it. 

“It was an accident,” the thief grumbled, and threw Calemund’s coin purse back on the table. The Dane raised an eyebrow, but pulled his knife away. 

“Thank you,” Calemund said. “I do not have anymore coins.”

The Dane slid his knife into the sheath at the small of his back. “You have much to learn about Winchester, my friend. Take care of your wealth, and do not be afraid to be intimidating.”

“I’m afraid I do not have much experience with being intimidating.” Calemund said as he tucked the purse into the inside of his tunic. “I’m usually the one being intimidated.”

“Then here is where you change that.” The Dane called for another mug of ale, and slide it in front of Calemund. “Sit tall, boy. You have every right to be here as all of the other men.”

“Sitting tall will not make much of difference.” Calemund tried to joke about his height, but it fell flat as his delivery was halfhearted. He had always been unusually short, given that his parents were both quite tall. Even some of his sisters were taller than him. 

“One’s height does not define who he is and whether or not he gets pushed around,” the Dane said, placing down a coin and standing up. Calemund realized with a start that this Danish warrior was not as big as he originally thought; he was only slightly taller than he was, and was leanly muscled rather than bulky. “Make your presence known, and you will be fine. It worked for me.”

Calemund grinned as the Dane made sure that the belt carrying his sword and axe was secure. He was completely right; all the Dane had done to Calemund was not be ashamed of being there. He was a Dane surrounded by Saxons, and he had confidently handled himself. 

“Wait!” Calemund cried out before the Dane exited the alehouse. “I do not know your name.”

The Dane stopped, and looked back at Calemund. “I am called Sihtric,” he said with a smile before turning and walking out into the street.

Thirty days. 

It had been thirty days since King Edward had begun the siege on Winchester. 

Calemund could hardly believe that this is where his life as a soldier for Wessex would take him. It was impossible to even imagine that he would be fighting for his own city. 

He sat in a circle of fellow warriors, trying to find something to do. He ended up cleaning his sword again, trying to keep it in good condition after so long of not actually using it. 

A commotion to his left made him look up. King Edward was walking back towards his tent, and a cluster of men were scurrying behind him. “No, I’m begging, Lord King, just give him more time!” A man with a thick Irish accent implored Calemund’s monarch. 

The king continued walking, even as another man followed. “Do not attack whilst he is within. Please, Lord.” The second man was dressed as a monk, but he curiously had a plate over his chest and a sword at his side. 

Ah, Calemund thought. These were Lord Uhtred’s men. The Dane-Slayer. Calemund had heard of his greatness throughout the land, and he could hardly believe that the man so willingly walked into the walls of Winchester. What was even more astonishing was the fact that Sigtrygger had exchanged him for the king’s sons.

With a sinking feeling of defeat in his stomach, Calemund turned back to his sword, methodically cleaning it. How he wished for a bucket of water to wash his face, and hot meal that was more than just gruel. 

“Lord King, we have followed Uhtred for years. He’s never failed!”

Calemund’s head snapped up as he heard the familiar voice. Sure enough, talking directly to the king, was the same Dane that had talked to him when he first came to Winchester. 

“He never failed because good men followed him.” The King replied curtly and stalked into his tent. 

Calemund let his sword drop as he realized that Sihtric was one of Uhtred’s men. And by the familiar way he spoke of the Dane-Slayer, Sihtric must have been close to him for a great number of years. 

He stumbled to his feet as the men clustered outside of the kings tent. One by one, Calemund watched as they dispersed until it was just the Irishman and Sihtric. 

He slowly made his way over to Sihtric, and he noticed a weight sitting on his shoulders that was not there when they talked so long ago in the alehouse. He stopped walking as the Irishman noticed him coming up. “Do ya need something?” He asked, his voice sharp. Sihtric turned around, and Calemund knew that there was no recognition in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I- know you probably do not remember me…”

Sihtric furrowed his brow and stepped towards him. A beat passed before he finally spoke. “I thought I told you to stop apologizing.”

Calemund grinned, and Sihtric offered a weary smile. The Irishman glanced back and forth between them. “I’ll just be off, then,” he muttered, and headed towards the trees lining the camp.

“I had no idea that you were Lord Uhtred’s man,” Calemund said breathlessly. “You must have been a part of the many battles he’s fought.”

Sihtric shrugged. “A few,” he answered. Calemund was again struck by how thoughtful Sihtric was. Here he was, in the service of one of the most legendary men to ever walk the four kingdoms, and was most humble about the battles he had been a part of. In fact, the loudest and most passionate Calemund had heard Sihtric be was when he was talking to the King about Uhtred. Guilt sliced through him as he comprehended the loss that Sihtric must be feeling. “I know I keep apologizing,” he said, stepping a bit closer to the Dane. “But I truly am sorry about your Lord.”

Sihtric studied him, and Calemund knew that he had gone through many hardships since he had first met him. His arm rings and jewelry was gone, and he had new cuts and scars lining his arms. Still, he stood tall, and Calemund understood the advice this Dane had given him so long ago. 

“That was the first apology that you meant,” he said finally said, and gently placed his hand on Calemund’s shoulder. “But Uhtred is not dead.” His voice was firm and left no room for argument. Even with so few words, Calemund believed him completely.

“I never got a chance to thank you,” Calemund said.

“For what?”

“For forgiving me.”

At this, Sihtric chuckled. “I will be honest,” he said. “You were not worthy of getting into a fight with.”

Calemund made a face and Sihtric laughed. It was warm and deep. “I am unsure of how to take that,” Calemund said. 

“I mean, I am grateful that I could talk to you instead of making it a problem. You were younger then, I could see the same doubts that I had felt throughout my youth.” Sihtric looked him straight in the eyes. “I only passed along the same knowledge that I was taught by Lord Uhtred.”

“You spilled ale on him?”

“Gods, no.” Sihtric laughed. “I would not dare. He never spoke to me directly like I did you, but I followed his lead. He walked tall, and always made his presence known. I had nineteen years when I swore my sword to Uhtred for life. It was inspiring to see a man be unafraid of getting what he wanted.”

The both turned as the call was made to prepare for battle. The ease that Sihtric had been exhibiting changed instantly; suddenly, in place of a man who smiled easily was the battle-hardened Dane that Calemund had been intimidated by. Sihtric glanced at him as he gulped, and grabbed his arm. “You make sure to stand tall and swing hard,” he whispered, and went to join the rest of Uhtred’s men.

Calemund stared after him, trying to process this encounter. Shaking his head in disbelief, but feeling encouraged, he straightened his back and went to join the rest of Edward’s warriors, head held high.


End file.
